Adaptation

I was bathing Olivia in our huge farmhouse sink, about two years ago.

We were living in our dream midcentury home at the time, and my husband had planted a trellis for me on the other side of the window. I watched him on many afternoons through that glass, he, carefully sewing vines throughout its grid.

This afternoon, it was just Olivia and I.

I tend to appreciate quiet afternoons and cascading three o’clock light, but as I poured warm water atop Olivia, I began to cry.

The moment itself was perfect, yet, contemplations of our future rendered me emotionally paralyzed. We’d moved to El Lago shortly after Olivia was born and without putting too much emphasis on the pull children have over decision making, she was our reason.

Now, smack-dab in the middle of our dream, loitered a nightmare.

That season of my life proved challenging; so many joyful moments being hijacked by sorrow.

I write this because human beings are innate forecasters.

We tend to live mid-stride, with one foot in the present and one foot in the future.

It’s seemingly intrinsic.

Perhaps that’s why we (as a collective) tend to cling to hope, even if our present circumstance would provide us no evidence.

What is also quintessential to survival is adaptation.

Harsh seasons bring with them frigid variants.

Without adaptation,

we,

individuals,

among millions,

interwoven in the corporeal grid of life,

wither.

My daily meditation, in all seasons, is to accept life in all its presentation...

and to adapt.

Survival isn’t without effort, so, if you’re reading this-

you too are adaptable…

Sending you my love, wherever you are on this cold day.

Life is fragile, and occasionally frigid...

Warmly,

S.O